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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25297522">Being Simon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/bazypitchandsimonsnow'>bazypitchandsimonsnow (ChessPargeter)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Being Erica AU, First Meetings, Getting Together, M/M, Meet-Cute, SO MUCH THERAPY, Therapy, Time Travel, Time Travel Therapy, trust me it makes sense</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:29:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25297522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/bazypitchandsimonsnow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon's type of therapy is...unusual to say the least. He has the incredible chance to go back in time to fix what he regrets. However, things get more complicated when Simon meets someone very interesting in the past.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penelope Bunce &amp; Simon Snow, Simon Snow &amp; Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ahahahaha I did it!!! I finished a fic! That's a big achievement for me nowadays tbh. This has taken forever because stupid fucking health, but I did it! Of course I'm not 100% good with it but I'm still proud. Being Erica is one of my fave shows ever and is severely underrated imo. Then I saw <a href="https://relenafanel.tumblr.com/post/158117140073/a-time-travel-au-where-a-character-is-granted-the">this post</a> and was like "oh damn that would be great for snowbaz." Now like three-four months late, here we are! Big thank you to MsZombieOctopus as always. She has been a big support for me through this writing slump. I couldn't be more grateful for her &lt;3</p><p>Basic idea is that time travel therapy is a thing, no further explanation given, and going back in time to fix past regrets teaches patients how to live better in the present. Patients essentially take over their past selves' bodies for a bit. Patients can return from the past either suddenly or by stepping through doors. So just imagine Simon doing that. Saying much more is spoilers. Hopefully y'all like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You know that guy who’s got it all? A perfect job, a perfect partner, wonderful family, a life that people are secretly jealous of? You know that guy, everyone knows that guy. Unfortunately, I am not that guy.</p>
<p>My name is Simon Snow, and I’m a fuck up. But I’m getting better.</p>
<p>“Mr. Snow, Mr. Snow!” Cassidy shouts, waving her hand, “I know the answer!”</p>
<p>“Cass,” I say, “what did we say about inside voices?”</p>
<p>She pouts and crosses her arms. “Keep the volume down for all those around.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. Now, try again.” Cassidy raises her arm with no added sound effects. I point my chalk at her. “Cassidy, what’s the answer?”</p>
<p>She puts her hand down, grinning wide. “It’s 42.”</p>
<p>I hold my hand out to her. “Nice job, Cassy, right on the money.”</p>
<p>She gives me a big high five. The feeling of accomplishment surges through me. God, I love this job. My old customer service work made me feel dead inside. Day in, day out, same old fucking garbage from garbage customers. It was just never something I wanted to do. Now I get to see a little girl smile, and I helped her smile. Yeah, little self centred, but I’ll take it.</p>
<p>“Patrick,” I say, “can you tell me how we can find 8 times 4?”</p>
<p>Patrick nods and starts rattling off the technique he’s come up with. It’s a bit odd and round about but all his. That’s what I love about kids, the strange and unique things their little minds come up with. It’s why I wanted to be a teacher in the first place, before I lost my way.</p>
<p>The bell rings and everyone's on their feet immediately. “Alright everyone,” I shout over the clamour, “make sure to finish chapter three for tonight. And get your worksheets done! We’re going to go over them with a fine toothed comb. Have a good weekend, kids.”</p>
<p>“Bye, Mr. Snow,” they all parrot back. I wave them off, then start on my laptop. Being a teacher means having a lot of paperwork. (Or Google Doc work, I guess.) Everything is in mismatched folders and I have to scour them for my lesson plan draft. Unfortunately, I’m still not great at organization, but I’m working on it. I’m working on a lot in my life.</p>
<p>My phone rings. I look up from my screen, and notice there’s no sunlight from the windows. Holy shit, how long have I been sitting here? I quickly grab my phone. “Hello?”</p>
<p>“Simon!” Todd shouts. “Where the fuck are you?”</p>
<p>“Oh, uh, hi Todd.” Fuck, what did I do this time? “I-I’m still at work...”</p>
<p>He scoffs. “Of course you are. Shit, Simon, I’ve been sitting at Casper’s for an hour!”</p>
<p>My heart drops. I look down at my watch. It’s 6:34. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, love, I just totally lost track of time-”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I guessed that. I should expect that of you now.”</p>
<p>Well, that stings. A lot. I’ve felt like a screw up my whole life, so much so even my parents didn’t want me. Like they had some prophetic vision that their kid would be a no good moron. Therapy has started to rid me of those thoughts, but they still creep up every once in a while. Like now.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, darling, I’m really sorry. We can go to my place, have take away-”</p>
<p>“No, Simon,” he sighs. “I just...I picked the day, the time, and the restaurant. All you had to do was bloody show up, and you couldn’t even do that. I mean...do you even care, Simon?”</p>
<p>A horrible, familiar pain goes through my heart. I can still hear Agatha’s voice all these years later. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. My thoughts get all muddled up, mixing up old fears and trauma with today.</p>
<p>“I do care, Todd, I really do. I just- I didn’t- I was- We can-”</p>
<p>“Please stop..” He sighs again. I can almost see him rubbing his pretty black eyebrows together. “Don’t stress stutter, it’s alright. Enjoy your work and takeaway.”</p>
<p>“Uh, could we reschedule?”</p>
<p>“No, we can’t.”</p>
<p>I gulp. I hate that I know what’s coming. “Are...are you too busy?”</p>
<p>“No, I’m just...I’m done. I can’t do this anymore, Simon. Hope you do well. I mean that.”</p>
<p>I slump in my chair. “Okay. You too. Bye, Todd.”</p>
<p>“Goodbye, Simon.”</p>
<p>He hangs up, but I keep the phone by my ear. My body feels too heavy to move and get out of this fucking chair. Once again, I screwed up my relationship. And the fact that it’s too familiar is even worse. This is what, the third partner I’ve lost in the last year? An abysmal track record. Before that I had been alone since uni, yeah, but I think it was better than feeling like this.</p>
<p>Slowly, I pack up all my stuff. Everything is quiet, like the world is in mourning for my latest lost relationship. Self centered as fuck but a nice thought. I sling my book bag over my shoulder and walk towards the door. It’s not even a shock when I don’t enter the foyer, but step through and end up in Dr. Margaret’s stony yet brightly lit office instead, complete with torches and pristine furniture. It’s like some medieval version of an IKEA showroom. Dr. Margaret is sitting in her chair with a book in hand, obviously waiting for me. Just another day with a super powered therapist who has her office in a pocket dimension outside of our reality. (That’s my theory anyway).</p>
<p>I speed walk forward and flop down face first on her white couch. “Hi to you too, Simon,” she says. I groan into the cushions. “Good day, huh?” I groan louder. “Tell me what happened or get off my couch.”</p>
<p>I move my face to the side, glaring at Dr. Margaret. She just keeps looking at me blankly from her large leather chair. Dr. Margaret has little time for my whining, something I usually appreciate. “Todd broke up with me.”</p>
<p>“You poor baby.”</p>
<p>I narrow my eyes even more. “Aren’t therapists supposed to be all sympathetic and shit?”</p>
<p>She scoffs. “Sympathetic when you’re not being pathetic.”</p>
<p>“My boyfriend just broke up with me, I’m allowed to be a bit pathetic.” I rub my very strained forehead. “I always get dumped.”</p>
<p>“Mhm.” Dr. Margaret picks up the notepad, the one I filled with my regrets the first day we met. It’s embarrassingly long, but a lot are crossed off too. “Tell me about ‘breakup with Agatha.’”</p>
<p>I groan, head falling back against the couch. “God, that’s one I’ve been waiting for.”</p>
<p>“Stop groaning and tell me.”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay, gimme a sec.” I sit up and put my elbows on my knees, rubbing my temple. Headache is coming. Though I’ve started to actually pay attention to my health and take care of myself now (thanks to Dr. Margaret), the headaches still happen sometimes. Especially when I think about this.</p>
<p>“It was 2003,” I sigh. “Agatha and I had been together for six years. Just before third year finals, Agatha broke up with me. I got really pissed at her. Turned into a huge screaming match. She said I didn’t care, and I called her an arsehole that never loved me.” I run a hand through my hair. Old stress habit. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. She was so unbelievably hurt. I knew it was wrong the moment after I said it, but I was too angry and proud to apologize. Agatha walked out. And that was the last time I ever saw her.” The words piece my heart like a knife. I feel like I'm about to shatter into pieces “We avoided each other all through finals. Right after graduation, Agatha moved to California for her masters. She wouldn’t take my calls, then she changed her number. So I gave up. Haven’t talked to her in twelve years. No idea where she is now and what she’s doing.”</p>
<p>Dr. Margaret nods thoughtfully, placing the notebook down. “What would you do differently? Try to fix things? Stay together?”</p>
<p>I shake my head vigorously. “No, god no. We weren’t good as a couple. But Agatha was one of my closest friends way before she was my girlfriend. I just, I want the breakup to not be so awful. That way we can stay friends. I want to keep her in my life. If I wasn’t such an arse, she would be.”</p>
<p>“Sounds reasonable. Let’s see if you can do it.”</p>
<p>A familiar chill hits me. At first it was terrifying but now I expect it. “Alright.”</p>
<p>Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re not hearing me, Simon!” Agatha screams. “I’m trying to tell you that it’s over!”</p>
<p>I stumble, blinking at Agatha and trying to focus on what’s around me. Dirty walls, Lady Gaga posters, a shitty desk I picked up off the curb. Yeah, this is definitely my uni apartment. And this is definitely Agatha screaming at me, trying to break things off and I’ve just been yelling. She’s so mad but I can’t help but smile. God, I’ve missed her.</p>
<p>“What are you smiling about?! Are you listening to me?!” She groans and shakes her head. “We’re done, Si. I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.”</p>
<p>She turns around to leave and my pulse skyrockets. No no, not again. “Ags, wait! I-I am listening. Please, don’t leave!”</p>
<p>Agatha freezes, hand on the knob. She glares at me over her shoulder. “What?”</p>
<p>“I-I’m sorry for yelling, that was awful. Can we just sit down and talk this out? Please?”</p>
<p>She looks me over, probably trying to figure out if I’m being sincere. I know I am, but as far as she's concerned I was screaming my bloody lungs out a minute ago. Must be weird for her. Thankfully, she lets go of the knob. “Fine.”</p>
<p>I sigh in utter relief. I sit down on my shitty mattress (pretty sure I got this off the curb too) and Agatha follows. She’s tense, arms crossed. I fiddle with my fingers. The nail beds are all chewed up, hangnails surrounded by dark dried blood. Glad I broke that habit, but right now I sort of wish I still did it. It made me feel better.</p>
<p>“Are you going to say something?” Agatha asks, voice biting.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, just, uh...” I rub the back of my neck. Words are getting fucked up again.</p>
<p>“You’re not going to change my mind, Simon. We’re through.”</p>
<p>“I know, Ags, I know. I don’t want us to stay together.”</p>
<p>Her eyebrows furrow. It’s really cute. I miss when she did that. “You don’t?”</p>
<p>“No, no, we’re not good as a couple. We don’t work well.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Her arms fall into her lap. “Okay. Yeah, I think the same.”</p>
<p>“Awesome.” I turn towards her with a big grin. “But, uh, could we still be friends though? You’ve always been one of my best friends, Agatha. I-I don’t want to lose you after this.”</p>
<p>Agatha rubs her lips together, But slowly, she nods. “Okay, yeah.”</p>
<p>A huge weight lifts off my shoulders. I grin so wide it hurts. “That’s great! That’s so great. I-I just, I don’t want to lose you just cause our relationship didn’t work out.”</p>
<p>She looks even more confused, and I’m not sure why. “What do you mean ‘didn’t work out?’”</p>
<p>“Well, I-I mean, y’know, we just don’t work as a couple. We haven’t been happy for awhile because things have kind of...fizzled out, right?”</p>
<p>Suddenly, that infuriated expression comes back. She groans and stands up. “I can’t believe you, Si! You really haven’t been listening to anything I’ve said, have you?!”</p>
<p>I stand up too. “No, no, I have! You want to break up, and I get why, we’re not happy together. We’re not a good couple-”</p>
<p>“Because of you!” she screams. I stumble back slightly from the force of her words. <em> “You </em>fucked up!”</p>
<p>A horrible, upset, disgusted feeling takes over my whole body. Like my very soul is sicking up. I step towards her, reaching out. “Ags, I don’t know what you mean. H-How did I ruin things? Tell me what I did wrong!”</p>
<p>She shakes her head and backs away. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Si. If you don’t know by now, I don’t think you ever will.”</p>
<p>Agatha starts to stomp away. I chase after her. “Agatha! Ags, please, don’t-”</p>
<p>She slams the door so hard all my knick knacks rattle. I’m left in silence, except for the thoughts rattling around in my head. Fuck, what did I say? What did I do? I can’t think of anything I’ve done horrible enough to warrant such a response from Agatha. I pull at my hair and gnaw at my nail beds. I mean, this me already does it, so where’s the harm? Fuck, I don’t know what I did. I can’t remember!</p>
<p>Penny. I gotta go find Penny. She always has the answers. She’ll remember why I fucked up. I rush out the door and swing my way down the shitty stairs, careful to avoid the usual vomit puddles. I’m speed walking across the lawn towards Pen’s TA building when I spot familiar frizzy white hair.</p>
<p>“That was fast,” Dr. Margaret says, looking down at her book with a Starbucks drink in hand. She’s dressed in a horribly ugly orange tank top and boho skirt. Perfect for 2003. She needs to blend in with the time period, or at least that’s what she says. I think she just likes to dress up. “Saw her storm out. Looked really mad.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck was the point of this?!” I yell. I’m so angry, I can’t help it. My temper is something I need to work on but I really don’t care right now. “I still cocked things up with Agatha, so she still hates me, and all I’ve learned is that I apparently did something horrible that I don’t even remember because it’s been twelve bloody years!”</p>
<p>She takes a long drink from her large Starbucks cup. “Hm. Quite difficult. What’re you going to do?”</p>
<p>“Find Penny, I guess, She’ll know, right?”</p>
<p>Dr. Margaret shrugs. “Don’t know. You have a phone. Call her.”</p>
<p>Oh, right, phones are a thing. I dig around in my cargo shorts (god, I can’t believe, I used to wear these things) and pull out my old Nokia slide phone. I sneer at the thing. It was my first and shittiest cell phone. I thought I was so cool because my mobile slid out. I was such a prat.</p>
<p>I go to my contacts, and Penny is one of five. That makes me a little sad. I always liked people, but I was always bad at making real friends. I’ve gotten better now but past me barely had anyone. I click her number, and she picks up after two rings.</p>
<p>“Hey, Simon, what’s up?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Um, not much,” I respond automatically. Dr. Margaret glares at me. Right, I don’t need to push down my problems and pretend everything is okay. Penny’s my friend, she’ll want to help. “Actually, there’s a lot. Aggie and I just broke up.”</p>
<p>“Oh Si, I’m so sorry. How’re you feeling?”</p>
<p>“Not too bad. I guess it was inevitable. I’m more confused than anything. Ags said I ruined it by doing something, but I’m not sure what I did. Do you have any idea what she meant?”</p>
<p>“Uh...I really don’t know. She hasn’t told me anything. She doesn’t usually tell me things anyway.”</p>
<p>I sigh and rub my face. “Yeah, true. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Pen.”</p>
<p>“Welcome, Simon. Love you.”</p>
<p>“Love you, too.” I hang up and shove my phone back in my massive pocket. Dr. Margaret is back to reading. “Well, that was no help.”</p>
<p>“Too bad. Maybe going to the source would be better.”</p>
<p>I frown in utter confusion. “You want me to go talk to Agatha again?”</p>
<p>“She knows what’s wrong. You don’t. Ask her.”</p>
<p>I put my hands on my hips. “You’re never this direct. What’s going on?”</p>
<p>She flicks her eyes to me, smiling slyly. “Don’t trust me, Simon?”</p>
<p>“No! I just know you always have something else going on. Nothing in therapy is ever easy or simple.”</p>
<p>“Know that. Taught you that.” She snaps the book closed. “Do what you think is best, Simon. Then live with choices.”</p>
<p>She stands up, book tucked into her hippie purse, and walks down the lawn. I huff, blowing a piece of stray hair out of my face. “You know I hate when you say that! It’s just pointing out the obvious! That’s lazy therapy!”</p>
<p>Dr. Margaret, the woman who has changed my life in so many ways, makes the “whatever” W sign at me. I chuckle and shake my head. Okay, well, this is probably some weird test (again), but Dr. Margaret has a point. Best to be direct. Maybe Agatha will have cooled down by the time I get there. I should do something nice. Bring her flowers, yeah, that’s a good idea. I look down at my cargo shorts, baggy Eminem shirt, and filthy knock off converse. Definitely need to change too.</p>
<p>I rush back to my apartment. It’s dingy and gross, but there’s a weird nostalgia to it. I should’ve put up more posters. (Why can’t that be a regret? That would be so much easier.) My dresser is bursting at the seams as usual. I throw my t-shirts around looking for something passable, but everything is dirty, tacky, smells like weed, or all of the above.</p>
<p>“Christ, how did I live like this?” I grumble, as if I wasn’t pretty much still living like this a year ago. (Minus the weed. Kicked that after uni, thankfully.)</p>
<p>Eventually I find a plain brown shirt and a pair of jeans with only one tomato sauce stain. Alright, I’m passable now at least. That’ll get Agatha’s attention just because it’s so out of character for who I am in this time. I open the old pickle jar where I keep all my change and scrounge together about 20 quid. Should be enough for flowers, especially before the 2008 crash. The exchange rate is the only thing I miss about the past, honestly.</p>
<p>“Alright,” I mutter to myself, slinging my bookbag over my shoulder, “decent clothes, okay hair, pocket change, bag to hold flowers. Let’s do this.”</p>
<p>I walk out my front door feeling confident, hopefully not too much. Can’t get a big head. Need to focus on Agatha.</p>
<p>“Simon, mate.” I turn around to see Rhys wheeling out of his flat. “What’s up? Heard a lot of shouting earlier, you alright?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m cool, man. Agatha and I broke up and things got messy.”</p>
<p>He inhales sharply between his teeth. “Yikes. Sorry to hear that. Can’t believe she dumped you for that snotty prep.”</p>
<p>I stand ramrod straight, then spin around on my heels to face him properly. “What snotty prep?”</p>
<p>“Oh you didn’t know?”</p>
<p>“Didn’t know what?!”</p>
<p>Rhys raises his hands in surrender. “Whoa, take it easy, man.”</p>
<p>Shit. Reel in your temper, Simon, don’t explode. “Sorry, sorry, mate. Just, what are you talking about with this prep?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, this preppy pretty boy Agatha sits next to in our romantic literature and creative writing classes. They’ve always got their heads together. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my business, but then you said you two broke up, so...”</p>
<p>“So you thought she told me, got it.” I rub my temples. Headache is coming back. “Do you know who he is?”</p>
<p>Rhys scratches the side of his head. “Yeah, think so. Tall, dark-ish skin, grey eyes, posh accent, even more posh clothes. Name starts with a T. Terrence, Terry, Tyler-” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Ty! That’s it!”</p>
<p>My face scrunches up. “Ty? Ty what?”</p>
<p>“Dunno. Just Ty, I guess. Like Madonna. Dude thinks he’s better than fucking everyone just because he’s rich or something.”</p>
<p>My blood boils to a fever pitch. So Agatha broke up with me for someone prettier and richer. She said it was my fault because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Mission failed, because I am fucking gutted.</p>
<p>“Thanks for telling me, mate,” I say, holding out my fist to him. He bumps his own against mine. “Really appreciate it.”</p>
<p>“Sure thing, mate. Come have a beer with us to commiserate?”</p>
<p>I chuckle. “Yeah, but you may have to remind me later. Brain like sieve.”</p>
<p>“Gotchu. See ya.”</p>
<p>“See ya.”</p>
<p>Rhys rolls down the hall towards Gareth’s. Right, it’s their weekly beer and footie night. I would hang out with them sometimes. I miss that. I should call them when I’m back in 2015. Right now though, I have a mission.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Finding Ty will be pretty easy. I know when Agatha and Rhys’ creative writing class is, which is in a couple of minutes. (Rhys skipped a lot of class. Luckily he was a genius so he graduated at the top of our year. And Agatha never went to class when she was upset, so I know I won’t see her.) I run over to the building I know it’s in, a massive hall made from dingy grey stone and filled with caffeine addicted twenty somethings. Then I sit by a tree, waiting to see someone like Rhys described. Oh and when I find him I’ll- Well, I’ll do something. Not sure yet but it’ll be something!</p>
<p>Droves of zombified uni students pass me by. None of them look posh and preppy enough to be like this Ty dude. He sounds like such a twat. What the fuck does Agatha see in him? (Or did see in him, I guess. Time travel is weird.) Maybe Agatha is still with him. Maybe they went to California together. She talked about me going with her for a bit, but I was scared to leave England. I don’t regret staying, but I do regret the crushed look on her face.</p>
<p>The guy passes by me. He looks ridiculous, wearing oxfords, black slacks, and a goddamn tweed jacket with leather patches on the sleeves. It’s the preppiest posh shit I’ve ever seen. I can see his hands, curled around his textbook, and his slicked back hair. Dark-ish skin and ear length black hair. I’m on my feet in an instant.</p>
<p>“Hey!” I shout. He doesn’t move. “Hey, Ty! I’m talking to you!”</p>
<p>He finally turns around, and my heart stops for a second. Holy shit. This guy is beautiful. Like, super model on the cover of a high end fashion magazine gorgeous. He’s got cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and his eyes aren’t just grey, they’re green and blue mixed together. Like deep ocean water. And right now they’re staring at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.</p>
<p>“Yes?” he says. His voice is smooth, strong, really pretty. “You called my name?”</p>
<p>I shake off my small gay panic (technically pansexual panic) and my anger returns. I glare hard at him. “Yeah, I did. My name is Simon Snow, Agatha’s boyfriend.”</p>
<p>His confusion quickly switches to stone faced boredom. “Oh you’re the boyfriend. Well, the ex-boyfriend now, according to the text Agatha sent me.” He tilts his head to the side, ocean eyes scanning me over. “I thought you’d be taller.”</p>
<p>My body feels like it’s on fire. This guy may be hot but he’s a total prick. How could Agatha dump me for him?! “Who do you think you are, huh? Flirting with someone’s girlfriend? That’s fucking low, you pathetic shit!”</p>
<p>He scoffs, putting on hand on his hip. “Very well spoken. If you’re done with your little alpha male display, I have a class to get to.”</p>
<p>Ty turns away. I’m ready to explode. I haven’t felt this angry in years but this guy is getting so under my skin. I grab his shoulder and force him to look at me.</p>
<p>“You don’t get to walk away, dick!” I roar. “Do you think you’re better than me?! Well you’re not!”</p>
<p>“I’m not the one shouting at a random stranger on the quad.”</p>
<p>“I’m shouting because you stole my girlfriend!”</p>
<p>“I didn’t steal her, you sexist shit,” he hisses. “She’s my <em> friend</em>. Are you the kind of arse to not allow his girlfriend to have friends?”</p>
<p>“No! And I’m not sexist! I just don’t like someone flirting with the girl I was with when I was with her, especially when you’re all...posh and shit!”</p>
<p>Ty scoffs again and leans forward. “Well, at least I don’t wear dirty jeans out in public. I have more self respect than that.”</p>
<p>My entire body explodes in a way it hasn’t in ages. My vision goes completely fucking red. I shove Ty, hard. Way harder than I mean to. He stumbles backwards, dropping his books on the grass. He looks at me in utter shock.</p>
<p>“What the fuck?!” Ty shouts. He then shoves my shoulders, and I stumble five steps back. Holy shit, he’s strong. </p>
<p>“Fuck you!” I shout back. I charge forward with all my might. Ty blocks me but that doesn’t stop me. I claw and push and pull at him, no clue what I’m doing at all. I’m just so angry and pushing it all at him. He pushes back just as hard. Neither of us will give an inch. We scrabble like a pair of cats. I can’t think, I just feel. I'm so angry and sad and worthless because...because....</p>
<p>Because I’m losing my friend again. And I don’t know what to do.</p>
<p>My hits get weaker and weaker. All the energy dribbles out like a melting ice cream in July. As I slow down, Ty stops pushing back. My arms fall down at my sides. His hands rest awkwardly on my shoulders.</p>
<p>“Uh,” he says, “are you alright?”</p>
<p>“No,” I choke out. Tears fill my eyes and cloud my vision. “No, I’m not.”</p>
<p>I break down, crying with heavy, ugly sobs. Everything is just collapsing in and around me. I really am losing Agatha all over again. It hurts even more this time. I’ve never fallen apart this badly on a regret. But everything from the past and present, losing all my partners in the past year then Agatha again, is just hitting me in one terrible mental blow.</p>
<p>“Oh shit,” he says. “Um...” I feel his hand move off my shoulder and slowly pat my head. “There, there?”</p>
<p>I snort like one of the kids I teach. I pull back, wiping the still flowing tears under my eye. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do?”</p>
<p>Though it’s a bit hard to tell, I think Ty’s face flushes. He crosses his arms defiantly. “Well, what the fuck are you supposed to do when a stranger attacks you then breaks down crying?”</p>
<p>I shrug. “Dunno, really. This is new for me too.”</p>
<p>Ty rubs the back of his neck, shuffling his polished oxfords in the dirt. I’m still sniffling like a child. “You want to go somewhere private? Where no one can see you?”</p>
<p>My eyes catch a couple of people glancing and outright staring at us. Or just at me. I nod vigorously. “Yeah, that would be good.”</p>
<p>Ty collects up the books I knocked out of his hands. He jerks his head to the side, and I follow behind him. Tears are still streaming down my face. They won’t stop no matter how hard I try. Ty leads us through a secluded area, past large trees and bushes, until we reach a completely hidden, beautiful ravine. Holy shit. Was this always here? I went to this uni for three years and I have no memory of this place. Either I’m super oblivious or getting old. (Probably both.)</p>
<p>We go past a couple more bushes until we come upon a ramshackle rainbow coloured bench against some trees. It looks handmade by some stoned out art major. The mess of cigarette and joint butts on the ground only reinforces that theory. Ty sits on one end of the bench. I take the other, but we’re still pretty close. It’s not very big. We sit in silence for a bit, save for my continued sniffling. Something bumps my arm. I look down to see Ty’s long fingered hand holding out a cigarette pack.</p>
<p>“Want one?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Smoking is bad for you,” I say automatically.</p>
<p>“Like you’re one to talk. You reek of marijuana”</p>
<p>“Fuck, really?” I sniff my shirt collar and get a whiff of weed. I groan, letting my head fall back against the tree. “Dammit. Thought this one was clean.”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately not.” He shakes the box. “You want one or no?”</p>
<p>I sigh and pluck a stick out of the box. Ty takes one as well, then pulls out a pristine silver Zippo lighter. He lights us both with one flame. I watch the paper crinkle and shrivel away into ash. I’m a bit nervous. Technically, I haven’t smoked anything in over a decade. Hopefully I can depend on past me’s muscle memory. </p>
<p>Ty takes a long, deep draft and breathes out a long puff of smoke. I try to mimic him. My lungs burn with the heat of twin suns. I wheeze out, thumping my chest. Ty throws his head back laughing,  hair touching his neck.</p>
<p>“You must be a shitty stoner,” he chuckles.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” I cough, “never been great at inhaling.”</p>
<p>“Bring it into your mouth, then your lungs. Don’t do it all once.”</p>
<p>I nod, even though I kind of knew that. Just been awhile. I smoked a few joints but I preferred my old bong. But I try again, doing what Ty said. This time I only cough a little instead of wheezing like the world’s most pathetic dragon.</p>
<p>“There you go,” Ty drawls. He’s definitely mocking me a little.</p>
<p>“Fuck off.”</p>
<p>“Christ, what bug crawled up your arse?”</p>
<p>I glare at him, and his face is completely unaffected. “The bug that Agatha broke up with me for you.”</p>
<p>He scoffs, flicking cigarette ash on the ground. “Your <em> ex- </em>girlfriend did not break up with you to be with me. We’re only friends. I’d never date her.”</p>
<p>“That’s mean, Agatha is amazing.”</p>
<p>Ty rolls his eyes dramatically. “It has nothing to do with Agatha. She’s wonderful. I just don’t like women.”</p>
<p>My eyes grow wider than saucer plates “You’re gay?”</p>
<p>He cocks an eyebrow. How did he get so good at that? Does he practice in the mirror? “You have a problem with that, Snow?”</p>
<p>“No, no, of course not. Just didn’t realise...”</p>
<p>“It’s not like I’m hiding it.” He gestures to his perfectly pressed button down, spotless navy slacks, and polished Oxfords. Okay, he has a point, most straight men don’t take such meticulous care of their clothes. 2003 closeted me had the excuse of being heteronormative as fuck, but 2015 pansexual me needs to work on his gaydar.</p>
<p>“I, uh, didn’t want to assume...” Usually a safe answer in my experience.</p>
<p>“How noble.” Ty takes a long drag. I still hate cigarettes, but the way his lips fit around the smoke plume is kind of attractive. “Agatha knows I’m gay. I told her after she almost kissed me.”</p>
<p>“What?!” I throw down the cigarette and shoot to my feet. The fire in my gut is back, along with the sense of utter worthlessness. I fucked up so badly, made Agatha so miserable, that she nearly kissed a gay bloke. I feel so awful and confused and I don’t know what I'm supposed to do, I’m just mad.</p>
<p>He rolls his eyes, <em> again. </em>“Sit down, alpha male, I said ‘almost.’ I’m not even sure she realised what she was doing, we were both completely pissed. She leaned forward slightly and I blurted out that I was gay. Then she promptly burst into tears.”</p>
<p>My heart feels like someone has reached inside and twisted every vein. My arms relax at my sides. “She...she was crying?”</p>
<p>“Yes, quite heavily.” He taps the cig with one long, graceful finger. (Does he play piano? He should.) “She said she was sorry, then blubbered for an hour about how conflicted she felt about wanting to break up with you.”</p>
<p>The impact of those words send me back down onto the bench. My whole body feels heavier than lead. “She felt conflicted?”</p>
<p>“Of course she did.”</p>
<p>“I-I thought this was easy for her. That our relationship was already going downhill, then I did something so bad she decided to end it. And then I thought it was because she found you, someone better than me.”</p>
<p>Ty scoffs. “My god, she was right, you are completely oblivious.”</p>
<p>I scowl at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”</p>
<p>“Exactly what I said. You’re so blind to what you’ve been doing.”</p>
<p>“What’ve I been doing?!”</p>
<p>“You’ve been a terrible boyfriend!” he yells. “You’re forgetful, you miss things, you don’t pay attention to Agatha, and most of all you take her for granted!” He sighs, rolling the half finished cig between his fingers. “Ags says you don’t mean to do it, you’re just oblivious, but she’s still hurt. There isn’t one bad thing you did, Snow. You’ve been hurting her for awhile.”</p>
<p>Every word is slap to the face. My body literally aches with all the guilt I feel. Ty is right. I was an awful, <em> awful </em>boyfriend. Every missed date, every burnt meal, every stupid thing I’ve ever said, they all rush into me. Fucking hell. How could I have not seen it? I always had reasons, and they were always small things. But I guess a lot of small things pile up.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” I choke out. Tears make little wet spots on the dirt floor. I don’t know when I started crying again. God, I’m a mess.</p>
<p>“Please don’t cry,” Ty says, sounding almost sympathetic. “I only have so many cigarettes.”</p>
<p>That makes a laugh surprisingly fly out of my mouth. Yet I’m still picking at my nails, flicking away bits of my cuticle like I want to get rid of my pain. I’m nervously babbling before I even realise it. “My brain’s always filled with...stuff. Keeping my scholarship, keeping my job, working towards my future. E-Everything’s always been about my future, what I’ll do eventually, even with Agatha. She was supposed to be my happy ending after all the shit I’ve been through.”</p>
<p>“She’s a person,” he mutters, “not your goal.”</p>
<p>“I know that!” I rub away more tears. “Well, I’m learning. I dunno. I-I had a shitty childhood, okay? So I’m always waiting for things to get better. And I thought if I did well at school and found a nice girl, things would just fall into place. Turns out shit is more complicated than that.”</p>
<p>I laugh to try to break the tension, but Ty stays silent. I cautiously flick my eyes over to him. He’s still holding his cigarette. It’s burnt down to the filter. His face is stone again, yet I can see the slight tremor in his fingers. It’s miniscule but it’s there. I don’t think he’s okay, but I barely know this guy, I’m scared to ask.</p>
<p>“I don’t know how to fix things with Agatha,” I sigh. “I’m bad at talking, bad at relationships, sometimes bad at friendships. It’s not like I want her back. I...I just want her in life. She’s amazing. I don’t- I can’t lose her again.”</p>
<p>“Again?” he says. My face goes bright red and my breath hitches. Fuck. Stupid time travel, screwing things up.</p>
<p>“Y-Yeah, we’ve had fights before, stopped talking for a while. I know this feeling, I hate it. I want her to be in my life and be happy and I don’t know how to do that!”</p>
<p>“Tell her that.”</p>
<p>I face him, blinking in confusion. “What?”</p>
<p>Ty sighs and flicks the butt onto the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his utterly perfect oxford. “Tell her that. Say you’re scared and clueless but you want to still be friends, so you want to figure out how to do that. Be honest. What else are you going to do?”</p>
<p>My mouth flaps up and down. Fuck. It’s so damn obvious yet it never came to mind. I thought I needed something big and smart so Agatha would understand. But... “All I need to do is be honest with her.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.”</p>
<p>I smile for the first time since I got here. “Wow, can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”</p>
<p>“You do seem to be a bit thick.” His slight smirk and teasing lilt save me from getting angry. I scoff and shake my head.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, you seem like a bit of a prick.” He scoffs too, but he’s still smiling.</p>
<p>We sit there in silence for a little. All I can hear is birds chirping and students in the distance. I feel calm. So calm I don’t want to get up for a while. I just want to catch my breath. Ty slowly tilts his head back over the bench.</p>
<p>“I haven’t sat down in awhile,” he says quietly, almost as if to himself, but too loud for me not to hear. “I’m always at class or studying. I don’t sit down and just...sit.”</p>
<p>“Well you haven’t really been only sitting,” I chuckle. “You’ve been helping me.”</p>
<p>“Would it be sad that this has actually been the most relaxing time I’ve had in months?”</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah, and a bit concerning.”</p>
<p>Ty laughs a little louder this time. His smile seems a bit more genuine, but his pretty eyes are a bit sad. It may just be his face. It looks like it’s designed for pouting. “I’m a political science and English double major getting ready for law school. My whole life is stress.”</p>
<p>I chuckle sadly. “Sounds like a nightmare.”</p>
<p>“It is. A nightmare I chose...” He spins the cigarette pack between two fingers. I know he’s just fiddling but it looks so damn cool when he does it.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t seem like you’re happy about that choice.”</p>
<p>His eyes shift over to me without moving his head. “Since when do you know anything about my feelings?”</p>
<p>I shrug, crossing my arms. “I usually know what sadness looks like.”</p>
<p>Ty sighs. He rubs his temple slowly with his elegant ring finger. (What is with my finger fetish today?) “Ever since I was little, it was expected that I follow in the family tradition. Get perfect grades, go to a good university, go to an even better law school, become a lawyer, then finally take over the family practice. It’s what my mother did. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”</p>
<p>“Is that what you want?”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter what I want,” he scoffs.</p>
<p>I tilt my head towards him, but not too close to scare him away. “Well, if you could do what you want, what would you do?”</p>
<p>“I told you, it doesn’t mat-”</p>
<p>“Then pretend it does matter. What would you do for the rest of your life?”</p>
<p>Ty sinks further into the bench. It makes his stupid tweed jacket bunch up slightly, and he almost looks like a normal young adult. “Honestly, I just want to read books forever.”</p>
<p>I giggle quietly, and Ty glares at me with a now obvious flush in his cheeks. “Fuck off,” he snarls.</p>
<p>“I’m not laughing at you!” He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s just, when I first saw you, I never expected you to be a total bookworm. You seem too posh for that.” Ty snorts, keeping his arms crossed. He won’t meet my eyes. I lean closer, and he doesn’t back away. “Reading books forever sounds hellish to me, but it sounds like heaven for you. It’s a great idea. Why not do it?”</p>
<p>Ty’s glare somehow gets even more intense. His eyes are just slivers of beautiful grey. “Because I’m a responsible person, unlike you.”</p>
<p>The words hit me right in the gut. I scowl deeply at him. <em>“That </em>is beyond not okay. You don’t know me, you don’t know my life. So you don’t get to spew shit like that just because you’re pissed off. Got it?”</p>
<p>Honestly, I’m surprised how clear and articulate I’m being. A year with Dr. Margaret has made it a lot easier for me to stand up for myself in a meaningful way, not just with growls and punching. But still, it’s hard, and I did this so easily. I’ve really made progress.</p>
<p>Ty scowls back, but I don’t back down. I’ve always been good at standing my ground, thankfully. Slowly, Ty’s face falls and gets less angry. In fact, he looks a bit regretful. We slowly move apart again. He takes a few deep breaths before he finally speaks again.</p>
<p>“You’re right,” he says, “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Good, apology accepted.” I lean my cheek onto my fist. “Seems both of us are having trouble with our futures.”</p>
<p>“Mine is secure.”</p>
<p>“But not happy.”</p>
<p>He rubs his lips together, like he’s chewing his words. “That doesn’t matter.”</p>
<p>“Why not? Why not do what you want instead?”</p>
<p>“Because I’ve already applied to law school!”</p>
<p>“Okay.” I put my back to the bench again, staring up at the sky through the trees. “Well, I’m nearly done with my maths and am about to start my teaching degrees. Then I've got a private school job lined up, but who knows? Maybe I’ll hate the job and quit and work at shitty customer service jobs for years until I decide to get my shit together and find an actually good teaching gig at a school I like.”</p>
<p>Ty’s dark brows furrow together. “That is extremely specific.”</p>
<p>I shrug, hoping my smirk doesn't say too much. “I don’t know, just a possibility.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” he snorts. “My life will be fine, it won’t go off the rails.”</p>
<p>He looks so sure and resolute. I don’t think I’m going to change his mind, and I don’t think it’s my job to. I can’t save everyone, something Dr. Margaret taught me. Plus I just met this guy. No matter how pretty he is, I don’t know him. (Wish I did.) Hopefully he can figure out his own shit.</p>
<p>“Okay. Your life, you can figure it all out.” I put my hands behind my head, leaning back, staring at the sky.</p>
<p>“Your life is going to be fine,” Ty says. “Agatha says that despite what you think, you’re smart. And I’m partial to agree. You have trouble with relationships, but who doesn’t? You’ve still got a good head on your shoulders. You’ll figure everything out too.”</p>
<p>I can feel my face turns bright red, and from the smirk on Ty’s face he can see it. I rub the back of my neck, trying to use my arm to hide my blush. “Y’know, I get why Agatha liked you. You’re weirdly nice and, well, really hot.”</p>
<p>Now it’s Ty’s turn to have his eyes go wide. He looks very cute. “Wow, you’re pretty forward for a straight guy.”</p>
<p>“Whoever said I was straight?” I smirk at him with one eyebrow raised. I hope I look confident and sexy and not just fucking weird.</p>
<p>“Oh.” His voice is almost a squeak. “I’m sorry I assumed.”</p>
<p>“S’alright, common mistake.” I look down at my stupid Nokia. “Wow, you’re beyond late for your class.”</p>
<p>Ty scoffs. “And who’s fault is that?”</p>
<p>“Okay, yeah, guilty as charged. You should probably get to it though. Need good grades for law school and all.”</p>
<p>“Yes, good point.” He stands up, and I follow, hands in my pockets. I both hate and love that Ty is a little taller than me. “But...it was nice to talk to you, Snow.”</p>
<p>“Feeling’s mutual, Ty. So, uh, see you around.”</p>
<p>I grin brightly, then turn around before I say something really stupid. I usually do in front of pretty people. Plus I need to see Agatha. That’s why I’m here, back in 2003. I’m not supposed to be chasing after a pretty guy who went to my uni ages ago. Even if he is like, <em> really </em>pretty.</p>
<p>“Simon.” His voice makes me stop in my tracks and turn back.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>Ty steps forward and holds out a scrap of lined paper. “Since you’re newly single, and now I know you’re not straight, give me a call sometime? If you’re up to it, that is.”</p>
<p>My brain completely short circuits. Blows a fuse. Maybe every fuse. I just stare at Ty with my mouth hanging open for a bit too long. Ty starts to look genuinely concerned. But thankfully the synapses start firing again and I shake it off.</p>
<p>“Um, y-yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I would like that.” I take the paper. “Uh, thank you.”</p>
<p>“You’re most welcome. I hope to see you around as well.”</p>
<p>I watch as he walks away, and I’m mesmerised by the way his hips swing. Fuck, he is so hot. And he likes <em> me. </em>I honestly have no clue why but I’m not going to question it. I have to make sure to call him before I go back to 2020. But right now I have to find Agatha, so I carefully put the paper in the smallest pocket of my bag, then dash off towards Aggie’s dorm.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>I knock on the door softly, and there’s no answer at first. “Aggie?” I say. “I came here to say I’m sorry. I won’t yell, I promise.”</p>
<p>Still silence at first. I nearly leave, but then the sound of soft footsteps comes from under the door. The doorknob slowly turns and my pulse increases every second. Agatha is wearing her purple Watford lacrosse sweater, a pair of my trackies that I left behind last week, and blonde hair piled up in a bun. Her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are red. My stomach drops at the sight.</p>
<p>“What are you sorry for?” she asks, voice low and flat. She sounds more tired than angry. For some reason that hurts even more.</p>
<p>I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I treated you, Ags. Our relationship didn’t fall apart for no reason. I didn’t pay attention to what you wanted and took you for granted. I was a terrible boyfriend. And I’m really, really sorry.” I start nervously pulling at my hair. “I-I’m not saying we should get back together. We weren’t happy, and you deserve someone who will put you first. But I still want to be your friend. You’re one of my first and best friends. I’m not sure how to do that, considering I was such an shit boyfriend, but can we figure it out? Together?”</p>
<p>Agatha rubs her lips together, taking slow deep breaths. Her fingers tap against the door one by one. I don’t know if I’m going to throw up or run or both. All are possible. But then Agatha nods slowly.</p>
<p>“Okay,” she sighs.</p>
<p>“Okay?”</p>
<p>“Let’s try to be friends again. I don’t want to lose you either.”</p>
<p>I grin ear to ear. “Okay, awesome, that’s great. I’m so glad you want to as well. I do love you, Ags, and I’m sorry I hurt you so much.”</p>
<p>“Apology accepted, Si, so you don’t need to do it anymore. Let’s just move forward, alright?”</p>
<p>“Alright, yeah, I’d like that.” I rub my neck and nervously gnaw at my lip. “Um, could I hug you? As a friend?”</p>
<p>She smiles softly. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her smile. Not just because I’m from the future, but I can’t remember the last time she smiled back when we were together. I hope I can make her smile more now.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” she says, “that would be nice.”</p>
<p>We both step forward and throw our arms around each other. I haven’t hugged Agatha in a long time either. Sure, we snogged and had sex, (though not very often honestly), but this is so much better. There’s no pressure or nerves. It feels normal. The most normal I’ve ever felt with her.</p>
<p>As we slowly part, we’re still smiling. “You,” Agatha pokes my chest, “need to study for your exam on Monday.”</p>
<p>I chuckle and nod, being silently thankful <em> I’m </em>not doing that exam again. Once was more than enough. “Yeah, I know. This felt more important though. You’re more important.”</p>
<p>She blinks in confusion. I can’t blame her. Past me was always too focused on my work so that I could reach the happy ending I always wanted. Future me is figuring out that there is no happy ending. There’s just life, and I have to make it what I want, not just wait for happiness to fall into my lap. I haven’t got it down pat but I’m getting there. That’s more than good enough.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m definitely glad to hear that,” Agatha says. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll go get brunch, okay?”</p>
<p>I nod enthusiastically. “Sounds great.” The voice in the back of my head reminds me about the small fact of time travel, and that when I go back to 2015, past me is only going to remember bits and pieces of this day. “But, uh, studying may fry my brain. So could you maybe call instead? And I’ll call next time?”</p>
<p>Agatha sighs with exasperation, but she’s still smiling. “Alright, that’s a valid excuse.” She presses a small kiss to my cheek. It’s completely platonic, and it feels great. “See you later, Simon.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, definitely.” I hug her tight one more time before I go. She gives me a kind wave before closing her door. I’m grinning like a mad man as I walk down the hell. I did it, I saved my friendship with Agatha. I’m so damn happy. Plus I met Ty.</p>
<p>Oh right. I reach into my bookbag, feeling around for my notebook. My hand curls over the rings of the spine as I push open the stairwell door. And I instantly fall face first onto the dirty public school floor.</p>
<p>“Mr, Snow!” Ms. Petty, the nicest janitor in the entire school, possibly in the whole world, rushes to me. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah, yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”</p>
<p>“Here, let me help.”</p>
<p>I take her hand and she hoists me to my feet. I still feel a bit dizzy, a small side effect of time travel I know all too well now. Ms. Petty keeps a hand on my back until I regain my bearings. “Alright, I’m good.”</p>
<p>“You sure?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be alright.”</p>
<p>“Okay, dearie.” She pats my shoulder. “Go get some rest, get your mind off work.”</p>
<p>“Right, yeah, work...”</p>
<p>Ebb gives me one last comforting pat and goes back to sweeping the hallway floor. I wave at her as I leave, hoping she doesn’t see the distress in my face. </p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter 2 will be posted within the next week, i.e whenever I'm well enough to edit it lol. See you all next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Present</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Simon is back in his own time, but all he can think about is the man from his past.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Time for some pining!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I wake up on Sunday feeling just as shitty as I did Friday night. No amount of comfort food, hitting my punching bag, or mindless TV have helped. And sleeping it off has done jack shit, because all I could dream was Ty’s soft looking black hair and pretty eyes.</p>
<p>I barely know who he is. I don’t even know his bloody last name. Yet I <em> desperately </em>want to see him again. How that’s going to happen is...well, that’s something I haven’t figured out yet. Every time I’ve opened a door, I’ve hoped I would walk into Dr. Margaret’s office. She can time travel and teleport, surely she’ll know something about one guy I talked to. Right? Right...</p>
<p>I throw off my blankets, sitting up and staring out at the London skyline, lit up in violet and gold by the rising sun. I wonder if he’s out there, looking at the same horizon I am. I wonder if he’s working at his mother’s law firm, or if he’s reading forever like he truly wants. I hope it’s the latter. I want him to be happy. Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about him. The urge to see him again is burning in my chest and gut and <em> everywhere. </em>I’ve never felt like this before; so intensely focused on one person. If only I had looked at his bloody number!</p>
<p>“God,” I groan, “I want waffles. At least I can have that.” I get up and stomp to my door. The second I walk through, I stumble onto a cold stone floor, bright lights flooding my vision.</p>
<p>“Nice pants,” Dr. Margaret says. I pull the hem of my shirt over my Monty Python boxers.</p>
<p>“Seriously, why do you always get me at literally the worst times?”</p>
<p>“Not my fault you never have a good time.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck off.” I sit heavily on her couch with my arms crossed. “So what happened? You usually do the post-regret session earlier than this.”</p>
<p>“Time is an illusion. Stop stalling. What did you learn?”</p>
<p>I sigh, sinking further into the cushions. “Well, I learned that Agatha and I didn’t just fall apart, I let it fall apart. I put myself and my own stuff before her time and time again. And I’ve done the same with everyone else after Agatha because I refused to see my part in our relationship ending, so I never tried to fix it. I need to actually be present in and put the work into my relationships. That’s the lesson, right?”</p>
<p>Dr. Margaret scoffs and laces her fingers together, elbows on her desk. “What the hell am I here for?”</p>
<p>I shrug with a little smirk. My ego feels way too inflated right now. “Dunno. You got something else to add?”</p>
<p>“Hm.” She leans forward and pins me with her intense eyes. She’s really good at that. “You’re too scared of being alone to end things when they’re not going well. Why you get dumped every time. See that?”</p>
<p>And pop goes my pride. My face heats up, most likely turning an impressive shade of scarlet. I sink into my seat. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point there...”</p>
<p>“Simon.” She moves even closer with a kind smile. “Don’t feel bad. Not a bad person. Were alone most of your childhood, don’t want to be alone again. But can’t keep making choices from fear. Have to make them for the right reasons.”</p>
<p>“What are the right reasons, then?”</p>
<p>“Happiness, growth, all that good shite on greeting cards.”</p>
<p>I let out a small laugh. “Okay, I’ll go pick some up at the corner store.”</p>
<p>“Get some ice cream too. Deserve it after such a long regret.” She leans back in her chair, strong arms crossed behind her head. “Maybe give Agatha a call on the way there. Might know something about a raven haired bloke.”</p>
<p>My pulse goes into double time. I lean forward with eyes wide. “Wait, you mean-”</p>
<p>“Have fun.” </p>
<p>Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins into a blur of colour around me. Then I'm stumbling through my bedroom door like I haven’t been anywhere at all. Fuck, I hate when she does that. I have to stay against the wall for a few seconds, just until I don’t feel like I’ve been on a bloody tea cup ride for a million years. Part of that might be caused by Dr. Margaret said. My heart is still beating like mad. It’s bruising my fucking rib cage, I swear. Holy shit. Holy <em> shit. </em></p>
<p>I scramble to grab my phone, half charged on my bedside table. Fourth in my contacts is one Agatha Wellbelove. It’s relieving to see for so many reasons. The phone rings three times, each one making my anxiety ratchet up, until it finally cuts off.</p>
<p>“Hello?” Agatha answers.</p>
<p>“Aggie!” I say a bit too loudly.</p>
<p>“Simon? What are you doing? It’s four in the morning here.”</p>
<p>My stomach sinks. Right. Major events don’t usually change after a regret. “Oh my god, you’re in California. I completely forgot about the time difference, I’m so sorry. I’ll go-”</p>
<p>“It’s alright, I’m already awake now. What’s up?”</p>
<p>“Um...this is going to sound random, but do you remember Ty? Your friend from third year uni?”</p>
<p>“Wow,” she chuckles, “that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”</p>
<p>Fuck, that’s not a good sign. “Have you, uh, seen him since uni?”</p>
<p>“A little, but not in awhile. We only had a couple more classes together before exams started. We had drinks a few times after, then I went to California right after graduation and he went to Oxford. Both of us were too busy to keep in touch, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Okay...” I lay down on my bed, Part of me just wants to curl up under my blankets forever. Another part wants to stuff my face with pastries. (Maybe both.) (Both is good.)</p>
<p>“What’s up with asking about Ty?”</p>
<p>“I dunno. I was just thinking about that time we talked. It just, uh, popped into my head” Because I literally just lived it a couple days ago while in time travel therapy, but I can’t say that. I learned a long time ago that no matter how rationally I explain it, no one will believe me.</p>
<p>“Right, you talked to him after our breakup.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. He helped me a lot. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t still be friends without him. He was nice. In his own weird way.</p>
<p>She laughs quietly. “Yup, sounds like Ty. He acted all haughty but he was such a sweetheart. Wish I had kept more in touch with him more.”</p>
<p>“Me too.” I hug myself, and it helps a little. “Me too.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I think I might still be Facebook friends with him.”</p>
<p>Almost all my despair washes away in an instance and I bolt upright. “Really?!”</p>
<p>“Lemme check.” She makes little contemplative noises through the phone. “Okay, yeah, there he is, Ty Black.”</p>
<p>“Black? That’s his last name?”</p>
<p>“No, he told me he had a crush on Sirius Black and wanted to pretend they were married.”</p>
<p>“Oh...okay.” I start to deflate again. I feel like a leaking balloon. “Does it say anything?”</p>
<p>“Looks like he hasn’t used it in awhile. His last post was a couple of years ago. Says he made partner at a law firm.”</p>
<p>“Does it say which one?”</p>
<p>“No, just that it’s in London. Not surprised, he always wanted to be in the big city.”</p>
<p>I’m grinning ear to ear. He’s in London, my city. He’s here with me. I can find him. “Cool, cool, good to know. Um, anything else you can tell me, Ags? Like his full name?”</p>
<p>“No idea, Si. I actually didn’t know much about him. We spent most of our time gossiping about our classmates or getting shit faced. If I asked him something about his family or past, he’d always change the subject. So I just don’t know.”</p>
<p>I’m not sure how to feel about that. Ty told me things about his family, about his past. But was that because he trusted me instinctively, or because I was just some random bloke who probably wouldn’t remember? Was I convenient? Well, he gave me his number, so he must’ve seen...something in me. Not sure what though. I've never seen much in myself.</p>
<p>“Okay,” I sigh, “makes sense, yeah. Thanks, Agatha.”</p>
<p>“Welcome, and good luck. From what I remember, he was really cute.”</p>
<p>My face turns a bright shade of scarlet. Luckily Agatha can’t tell over the phone. (I think.) “Um, I’m not sure-”</p>
<p>“Please, give me more credit, Simon. I’ve known you for most of your life, I can absolutely tell when you're smitten. Not sure why you’re thinking about him over ten years later, but I support you. I hope it goes well.”</p>
<p>I smile, and I kind of hope she can hear that. “Thanks, Ags.”</p>
<p>“Welcome. Now I’m going to go back to bed. Love you.”</p>
<p>It’s impossible to describe the utter joy and relief I feel at those words. I’ve got Agatha back in my life. Hell, as far as she knows, we never lost touch to begin with. I’m so, <em> so </em>happy.</p>
<p>“Love you too, Ags. Night.”</p>
<p>“Night,” she yawns. The phone clicks off, but I keep grinning. Well, even if I can’t find Ty, this is absolutely a victory. But I’m going to damn well try.</p>
<p>My stomach growls louder than a lion. Waffles first, though. Definitely waffles.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t remember <em> anything </em>about him?” I ask through my mouthful of sweet, delicious fried batter and syrup.</p>
<p>“No, Simon,” Penny sighs. “I don’t remember the guy you mentioned, like, once in the few weeks before our third year exams.”</p>
<p>I grumble. Stupid past me, not saying more. It’s not his fault though. Past versions of me only remember bits and pieces of a regret, just enough so they don’t seem like total weirdos who blacked out and can’t remember a big chunk of time. So it's more like stupid time travel shenanigans.</p>
<p>“Damn, okay. I’ll just keep looking.”</p>
<p>“Are you really going to scour all of London looking for one bloke you met over ten years ago?”</p>
<p>“When you say it like that it sounds stupid.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it <em> really </em>does.”</p>
<p>“Bye, Penny, got more work to do.”</p>
<p>“Simon-”</p>
<p>I hang up before Penny can talk me out of this. She absolutely will, and I don’t want that right now. I want to find him, no matter how impossible it seems.</p>
<p>First stop is the alumni website, obviously. We went to the same uni, he has to be somewhere in the system. My fingers fly like lightning across the keyboard. No one in the political science or English departments that looks close to him, just a lot of uptight white dudes or hippie looking magazine writers who probably smoke too much weed. None of them have his gorgeous skin or dreamy grey eyes. (God, I want to see those eyes again.)</p>
<p>Next, I try the Oxford law school site. It’s even more impossible to navigate than most uni websites. There aren’t even any pictures of their alumni, just a list of stupidly posh names. Lewison, Pemberly, Grimm, Fairchild, Abbot, Harrington, none of which have a first name resembling Ty. That’s another issue. His name could be a nickname for so many other names. Tyler, Tyson, Tyrell, Tyrone are all possible. (Hope it’s not Tyrone, bloody hell.) Or maybe his name is just Ty, for some reason.</p>
<p>That’s why London 411 is absolutely no help. Apparently there are literally <em> thousands </em>of Ty's living in my city. I narrow it down to people my age, plus or minus a few years and there are still hundreds of Ty’s and Ty adjacents. I groan and rake my fingers through my hair, nails digging into my scalp. Why the fuck didn’t I get his last name? I want to scream at myself but all that would achieve is getting noise complaints from my neighbours.</p>
<p>Eventually, I resort to just straight up Googling. I try everything I can think of. “ty university of manchester,” “ty university of manchester english,” “ty university of manchester politics,” “ty university of manchester english politics,” “ty oxford law,” “ty london lawyer,” “ty london,” “ty sexy hot university of manchester student ashwerhuertjwerh.”</p>
<p>I faceplant my keyboard for longer than I would like to admit. “This is hopeless,” I groan into my table. I lift my head up to the ceiling. “What’s the point of this, Dr. Margaret? Is this some sort of test? Are you trying to give me a bloody ulcer?! Cause the last one is absolutely happening!”</p>
<p>Of course, there’s no answer. I’m not even sure where Dr. Margaret’s office exists relative to myself, or to our reality period. Trying to figure that out makes my brain hurt. I look at the clock, and it’s already seven. Christ, have I really been at this for that long? I should be grading homework like a good teacher. I need to stop. I’m a thirty three year old person, dammit, not a love struck teenager. (Okay maybe I’m both.) I slam my laptop shut and go on a hunt for food.</p>
<p>I heat up some frozen macaroni and take out my munchkins’ worksheets. Okay, these are easy. Math tests are universally understandable and simple most of the time, unlike stupid time travel therapy tests. I shovel bad pasta in my mouth as I fly through grading. </p>
<p>“Good job, Matt,” I mumble through my shitty food. “Got the formula right.”</p>
<p>This is easy. I can do this. And I’m not thinking about Ty. Not at all. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it will come true.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nice job there, Roy,” I say. “You summarized the text wonderfully.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Mr. Snow.” He beams at me with his gap toothed grin.</p>
<p>“You’re very welcome, bud.” I turn to Sufia, who seems to be stuck on the second question. I get down on her level, making my knees ache in the process. It’s worth it. “Need any help, Sufi?”</p>
<p>She holds up her worksheet to me a little too close. “What’s this word mean?”</p>
<p>I gently push the paper back so I can actually read it. (My vision isn't bad enough for that yet.) “‘Ascend,’ it means going up. For example you can ‘ascend the stairs.’”</p>
<p>Her eyebrows knit together. “Why doesn’t it just say go up then?”</p>
<p>“Well, that involves a longer discussion about poeticism that we’re going to have next week, alright?”</p>
<p>“Okay.” She goes back to the worksheet, sticking her tongue out in concentration. I chuckle under my breath. The strange and hilarious things kids do, gets to me every time.</p>
<p>I wander around the room, helping any kid who needs it and giving suggestions when asked. Teaching is less about telling and more about guiding children. It makes me wish a certain someone would guide <em>me</em> instead of leaving me to suffer for the last week.</p>
<p>I’ve still got nothing on Ty, no matter where and how I search. Everyday my hope gets whittled down bit by bit. I’m this close to giving up. There’s only so many hits one person can take, really.</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s a good point, Maeve, I like where you’re going with that,” I say. “How do you think that fits with our earlier readings?”</p>
<p>Maeve scratches her head with the top of her head with her pencil eraser. “Um...I don’t know...”</p>
<p>I crouch down near her. “Well, is there a way for you to remember? Do you have the books on you?”</p>
<p>“No, but I have something better!” She reaches into her absolutely massive backpack (I’m surprised she doesn’t tip over wearing that thing) and pulls out three notebooks. They’re all labeled with divider tabs. It’s insanely organized for a nine year old. “I keep a lot of notes.”</p>
<p>“Wow, I can see that. You like doing that?”</p>
<p>“Yeah! I keep all my notebooks, I like to read them.”</p>
<p>“Smart plan. Wish I kept-”</p>
<p>My mouth snaps shut. The gears are turning in my head. Creaking and slow, but still turning. I’m flung back to a vague memory of being 24, moving into my current flat from my old uni one, and Penny sorting through my random crap. She stood over a mess of all my uni papers next to my desk. Literal years of collected worksheets and notes that I never got around to throwing away.</p>
<p><em> “Why the hell do you have all these?” </em>Penny asked.</p>
<p><em> “I wasn’t sure what I’d need for later classes,” </em> I’d said, <em> “then it all just piled up...” </em></p>
<p>She shook her head at me. <em> “Well, you can’t keep all of it. Pick some stuff you want to keep and we’ll donate or throw out the rest.” </em></p>
<p>I nodded, then sat cross legged in front of the anxious student hoard. I tossed all the random papers profs handed out but I never read, along with most of my notebooks. But I remember one moment, a single instance that might change everything, when I decided to keep the notebooks that looked nice. Like the green one with vines on it I used in third year. I always kept it in my book bag. I liked the pocket just inside the front cover.</p>
<p>Holy shit.</p>
<p>“Mr. Snow?”  I’m snapped out of my weird memory trance back to my reality as a teacher who needs to, y’know, teach. I smile down at Maeve.</p>
<p>“Sorry, mate, spaced out a bit there. Anything else you need help with?”</p>
<p>Maeve points to a new question. “What does this mean?”</p>
<p>I explain the question to her as calmly as I can, not showing how I’m simultaneously panicking and ecstatic inside. Like a fireworks display in every lobe of my brain. Holy fucking shit.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The second all the munchkins are out the door, so am I. Luckily I’ve been distracting myself from the Ty search by furiously doing all my lesson planning. I’m set for the next week. But all I’m really thinking about is where I put my bloody notebooks.</p>
<p>I slam my door shut, only vaguely wondering what my neighbours would think. My office (really a repurposed storage room) is a huge mess of textbooks and lesson ideas, like a tornado tore through a Michael’s and a college book store. I make it even worse by throwing object around, searching for one stupid thing. I have to have it, I <em> need </em>to have it. It’s my last chance, honestly. Please, universe, let this go right.</p>
<p>Under my Teaching Theory 5th Edition textbook is a pile of old notebooks, including a green one with vines on the cover. I scramble to open it. My heart skips a beat when I feel a piece of paper. Slowly, I pull it out, and gasp under my breath.</p>
<p><em> 023-345-9876 </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> Give me a call sometime, Snow </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> - Ty </em></p>
<p>I’ve never typed a number so quickly in my life, though I have to keep hitting backspace because my fingers are shaking so much. And I’m even more nervous as I bring the phone to my ear. Fuck, this is so stupid, but I’m not turning back now. The phone rings three times before it finally gets picked up.</p>
<p>“Basilton Pitch,” a smooth, strong, most likely male voice replies. Well, that sort of sounds like him, but wrong name. My stomach sinks a little.</p>
<p>“H-Hi,” I squeak. I clear my throat so I don’t sound like I’m going through fucking puberty again. “Um...”</p>
<p>“Hello? May I help you?”</p>
<p>“Uh, possibly.” I rub the back of my sweaty neck. “I don’t know if you can help me, but I’m looking for someone who gave me this number a long time ago. Do you know a man named Ty?”</p>
<p>There’s a long, extremely awkward pause on the other side. My face gets more and more red each passing millisecond. I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? I should just hang up-</p>
<p>“No one has called me that in ages,” he says. “Who <em> are </em>you?”</p>
<p>I gasp very audibly. Holy mother of all fuck. It’s him. I’ve found him! “It’s me!” I shout far too loudly. “I-It’s Simon. We met once in uni, after your friend Agatha broke up with me. I’m not sure if you remember-”</p>
<p>“You’re...you’re Simon Snow.”</p>
<p>“Yeah! That’s me! And you’re Ty, the really nice posh gay bloke who was getting his degree in politics and English then went to law school, right?” I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.</p>
<p>“Holy shit, it really is you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and you’re you!”</p>
<p>He chuckles, and his voice sounds even brighter than it did all those years ago. “Yes, I am. Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit...confused. Not that I’m ungrateful, but I gave you my number over ten years ago, and you’re only calling me now?”</p>
<p>“Um, yeah...” I scratch my blushing face, quickly concocting up a reasonable story that lacks time travel. “I got caught up in exams, then I, uh...kind of lost the notebook where I put your number. I was so pissed at myself for awhile but what could I do, y’know? Then I was, um, going through my old uni stuff today and take a wild guess at what I found.”</p>
<p>“A notebook with an ancient piece of scrap paper.”</p>
<p>“Still pretty smart, huh?”</p>
<p>“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, but I’ll take the compliment.”</p>
<p>My cheeks are starting to ache from smiling. I don’t mind at all. “Happy to give it, and that you haven’t changed your number in over a decade.”</p>
<p>“Thank God for being loyal to a mobile carrier.”</p>
<p>I’m about to say something else, anything to keep talking to him. But then there’s commotion on the other end of the line, and Ty (Basilton?) moves away from the speaker.</p>
<p>“What?” he says. “Yes, I can take a look at your notes, Vadoma, give me a moment.” His voice becomes louder again. “I’m very sorry, I wish I could keep talking, but I have end of the week work to do.”</p>
<p>My shoulders slump. “Oh, okay.”</p>
<p>“From your area code, I’m guessing you’re in London too, so how about we have coffee tomorrow and catch up? Around noon good?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” My voice squeaks again, fuck. Calm down, Simon. “Yeah, that sounds great. Any suggestions?”</p>
<p>“I know a nice little place in Camden if that’s alright.”</p>
<p>“Yeah! I actually live in Camden.” </p>
<p>“What a lovely coincidence. I’ll text you the address?”</p>
<p>“That would be amazing.”</p>
<p>“Great, I’ll see you then, Simon.”</p>
<p>“See you.”</p>
<p>The phone clicks off, but it stays by my ear for another long moment. My brain is still playing catch up.</p>
<p>I found him. I actually found him. My stomach is filled to the brim with a thousand butterflies. I’ve never been this excited about...anything, really. How is it that one guy can make me feel like this? I have no clue, but I don’t care. I’m just looking forward to tomorrow <em> so </em>much.</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>My leg won’t stop bouncing. No matter how deeply I breathe or push down, it just keeps jerking around like a hyperactive toddler. I’m somewhere between excited and completely, utterly terrified. What if he doesn’t show up? Worse, what if he does show up and he doesn’t like me anymore? It’s been over ten years, I definitely don’t look like I did when I was 21 anymore. He could be horribly disappointed with 33 year old me, with my dark circles and crow’s feet and only marginally better fashion sense. I would be.</p>
<p>Fuck, he’s going to laugh in my face isn’t he? My leg bounces even more. I stuff the last of my scone in my mouth then wash it down with strong coffee. Unfortunately that does nothing for my anxiety. I’m stewing in so much worry and fear that I don’t notice a shadow over my table until it decides to speak.</p>
<p>“Hello,” the same smooth, strong voice from the phone and from ten years ago says. I look up, and my heart skips more than one beat.</p>
<p>He’s just as beautiful as he was back then, but in a very different way. Same reddish-gold skin, same deep sea grey eyes, same raven black hair. But instead of looking like some preppy statue, he looks, well, human. He’s dressed in a tucked in white button down with a soft floral pattern. His collar is open, the sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and it’s even wrinkled in some places, but none of that seems to bother him. More astounding, he’s wearing distressed black denim that hugs his legs in all the right places, a thumb casually hooked in one pocket. Never would I have imagined the uptight bloke I met in<em> jeans</em>. His hair reaches all the way to his shoulders now, falling in a lazy wave that softens the sharp lines of his face. His kind smile absolutely helps too. </p>
<p>This isn’t the same Ty from twelve years ago. This guy is a lot more grown up, and looks so much happier.</p>
<p>“Hello?” he says again. “You there, Snow?”</p>
<p>I shake off the second Ty induced pan-panic of my lifetime. “Uh, yeah. H-Hi, Ty. Oh, wait, you go by Basilton now, right? Or do you like something else?”</p>
<p>He chuckles as he takes his seat across from me. It’s a simple movement yet surprisingly graceful. “Just Baz is fine. It’s less of a mouthful than Basilton.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Hi, Baz.”</p>
<p>“Hello again, Simon. How have you been?”</p>
<p>“Good, good. How about you?”</p>
<p>“Alright. Honestly, I’m still in shock that I’m seeing you again.”</p>
<p>I chuckle and rub my neck nervously. “Yeah, me too. But, uh, you look good. Twelve years later and you’re still stupidly attractive.” My face immediately heats up. “Sorry, that’s weird-”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind. Not at all.” He leans back, arm casually slung over the back of his chair. “You’re still cute as ever, though I am glad your fashion sense has improved.</p>
<p>I must look so ridiculous right now, a thirty three year old man blushing like a smitten schoolboy. How can I help it when he talks like that? “T-Thanks. Your clothes have definitely changed too. What happened to the tweed jacket?”</p>
<p>Baz groans and hangs his head over the back of his chair. I like the way his hair falls. It’s pretty as hell. “Please don’t remind me. God, I don’t even know what I was trying to do back then.”</p>
<p>“Be some posh and professional prat while also being gay as hell?”</p>
<p>His head moves back up and he snaps his long finger and points at me. (I still want to know if he plays piano or not.) “Yes, that sounds right. Conformity and rebellion all at once. I had such insane cognitive dissonance back then, god.” He leans his cheek into his palm, pretty eyes fixed on me. “So what do you do now? Still attacking random men then stealing their cigarettes?”</p>
<p>I chuckle to try to hide my utter embarrassment. “No, but if I remember correctly, you offered me the cigarette.”</p>
<p>“Touche. You still haven’t answered though. What’s your life like?”</p>
<p>I shrug and sigh. “It’s pretty normal. I live in a tiny flat and I alternate between box food and take out, but I’ve got a pretty great job. I teach little kids.”</p>
<p>“So you did end up going into teaching like you wanted?”</p>
<p>“Eventually, yeah. I got sidetracked for...well, until a year ago. But I’ve finally been getting my life together lately. I do my laundry once a week now instead of once a month.”</p>
<p>He laughs, head bending back over the back. It’s so free and open, I’m amazed. “Yes, truly a sign of adulthood, I agree.” Baz sighs and runs his hand through his hair. I like how the black strands fall over his fingers. “I understand being derailed all too well. You should’ve seen me six months ago, I was a train wreck.”</p>
<p>“Really?” It’s hard to imagine Baz as a train wreck. He was so pristine in uni, and even now he still looks absolutely perfect.</p>
<p>“Oh absolutely. I’m humble enough nowadays to admit that you were right, Snow.”</p>
<p>“About what?” I don’t mind being right, but I’m not really used to it.</p>
<p>“About <em> me.” </em> He leans forward, arms crossed and elbows on the table, offering more but still a bit closed off. “All those years ago, you asked why I couldn’t just do what makes me happy. And I said that what I wanted didn’t matter. I had many reasons back then, but in the end they were all bollocks. I learned that the hard way. So, you were right.”</p>
<p>Is it strange that I’m both happy and sad that I was right? It’s absolutely a bittersweet taste on my tongue, like figuring out a lesson about myself from a therapy session. “Well, uh, thanks, I guess. But that sucks. Was the hard way, y’know...really hard? I hope it wasn’t.”</p>
<p>He sighs and runs his hand through his hair again. Honestly, he looks like some romantic hero when he does that. And I didn’t think he could get more attractive. “Well, it wasn’t fun, I can certainly say that. I did what I was supposed to do. Went to Oxford, became a lawyer at the family firm, fought all the cases the way I was supposed to. I kept waiting to not feel like shit every single day, but that never came. Nothing ever got better, and bit by bit small things piled up, completely crushing me. Then, well...” He winces, like someone has kicked them in the shins. “I did something pretty ridiculous.”</p>
<p>My head fills with a flurry of probably insane ideas. I only now realise that I’m leaning a lot closer, entranced and nervous for what Baz has to say. “How ridiculous are we talking?”</p>
<p>“Well,” he bites the corner of his lips (it looks way sexier than it should), “one morning over six months ago, I was looking over my case for the day. Checking notes and arguments, drinking too much coffee alone, smoothing out my suit, the usual. And for some reason, in that moment, a realization hit me; This was going to be the rest of my life. Reading cases, arguing for clients I hated, feeling completely numb all the time. I had been doing all this bollocks for almost ten years, and realistically I would be doing for decades to come. The thought sent me into a terrifying meltdown thanks to years of untreated mental health issues. I didn’t know what to do so I sort of ran away.”</p>
<p>“Ran away?” I chuckle. “In your thirties, I think they usually just call that a vacation.”</p>
<p>“It would have been, if I had told anyone I was leaving and hadn’t stopped answering my phone for weeks.”</p>
<p>My eyes go very, <em> very </em>wide. “Wait, what?!”</p>
<p>“Yeah...” It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but I think Baz’s cheeks turn red. Embarrassment looks cute on him. “After pacing around my flat for hours, I decided to simply leave. Packed a small bag, grabbed my car keys, and just started driving north with no destination in mind. Of course my colleagues started blowing up my mobile, then later my family and friends joined them. I couldn’t bear to answer because I didn’t even fully understand what was going on. I just needed to get far, far away from everything I knew and hated.”</p>
<p>“Where did you go then?”</p>
<p>“To a lot of places,” he sighs. “Mostly bad bars though. I basically drank and danced my way up the British Isle. I think. Honestly, I barely remember that time. It was an alcohol laden haze with brief moments of sober lucidity when I drove. And when I was lucid, I got depressed about my life again so I would drink more that night and pass out.”</p>
<p>“And you did that for how long?” My heart is beating a bit too fast. I know he’s fine, yeah, but still, the worry is eating away at me.</p>
<p>“Only a month,” he says, like that’s in any way a relief. “At the end of September, I stayed at a shitty inn in Scotland. I remember walking down the hall, and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital with my aunt by my side. She equal parts screamed at me and was relieved I was okay. Turned out I had fallen down the stairs while severely hungover like a bad Monty Python skit.”</p>
<p>He laughs, but there’s sadness behind it. Just like his smile over ten years ago. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.</p>
<p>“Obviously I was fine.” He waves dismissively. “I spent two weeks recovering in the hospital. Which gave me a lot of time to think about myself and my future. By the end, I had decided to take an actual leave of absence from my work to focus on my mental health. And I did. Started therapy, stopped drinking, bought some clothes that weren’t bloody lawyer suits.” I can’t help but giggle. Baz’s smile has no sadness behind it this time.</p>
<p>“So I guess you’re not a lawyer anymore?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I quit a week after I got back to London, then started applying for book editor jobs.”</p>
<p>I grin wide. I can’t stop grinning. “Reading books forever.”</p>
<p>There’s a lovely glint in his eye. Like someone ripped Polaris from the heavens and put it in the deep sea grey of his eyes. (God the poetry unit is getting to me.) It’s a kind of playful happiness that I really, really like.</p>
<p>“You remember,” he says amused.</p>
<p>“Of course!” He smiles wider, eyebrows raising up. Now it’s my turn to blush like a teenager. I sheepishly rub the back of my neck, thinking of a reason that doesn’t include time travel. Or obsessing over our one conversation for a week. “Well, I-I’ve remembered some stuff. You just kind of, uh, y’know, stuck in my head.”</p>
<p>“Hence why you still called me ten years later.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” I tilt my head down a bit, uselessly trying to hide how ridiculous I look. “I mean, I’m not really sure why. You were just...really different from anyone I’ve met. You were so, pretty and posh and smart, and at first I found it annoying. But the more we talked I realised you were nice, in your own strange way. And without your help I would have lost Agatha in my life forever. I dunno. You made an impression. You’ve come up in my head from time to time.”</p>
<p>Technically that’s not a lie. By time to time I just mean <em> all </em>the time for days. Though I have a vague feeling, a whisper of a half memory, that past me may have thought about Baz too. Some things always stick post-time travel no matter how much past me is supposed to forget. Usually it’s only the super important, impactful things. Looking at Baz’s incandescent smile, framed by wavy black hair, I think he might count.</p>
<p>“Honestly,” he says, his voice low in a very private way that I like, “you’ve come up in my head too. Especially during my crisis. I thought about how right you were back then, how I should have listened to you and maybe wouldn’t have wasted so much of my life if I had. But I was too stubborn and blind back then to” </p>
<p>“Hey, stop that.” I somehow lean even closer. I’m this close to actually getting out of my chair. “Don’t beat yourself up so much. Remember that you had good reasons back then, and yeah it really sucked to go through all that, but you learned stuff right?”</p>
<p>“I suppose...”</p>
<p>“Then it wasn’t a waste.” Baz’s eyes narrow. A softer version of a glare, but he's still not totally happy. “Yeah, I know that’s easy to say, but I do kinda get it. Working in jobs I hated, never dating, never really doing <em> anything </em> for years<em>, </em> that all felt like a total waste. Sometimes it feels like my life is only just starting now at bloody 33. But I think struggling also gave me the drive to work harder now, live better. So did being a lawyer give you anything good?”</p>
<p>Baz looks really cute when he’s thinking. I like the way everything in his face pinches up, from the furrowed manicured brow to the slight pout of his bottom lip. (Don’t think about kissing that pout, do <em> not </em>think about it.) (Fuck I’m thinking about it.) Slowly, his expression softens.</p>
<p>“I learned,” he starts, “that I can’t force myself to love something. I thought if I was a lawyer long enough, I would at least learn to tolerate doing it, but I still hated every moment. I can’t keep living for other people’s expectations. At least that’s how my therapist puts it. Maybe I’ll fully listen to her one day.”</p>
<p>I let out a laughing snort and immediately cover my mouth in embarrassment. I hate when I do that. But Baz grins at me. The amused, affectionate glint in his eyes makes me want to blush even harder. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks and butterflies all at once. It’s so overwhelming and wonderful.</p>
<p>“Took me a while to listen to my therapist too,” I say. “Actually fixing yourself is hard.”</p>
<p>“Tell me about it,” Baz groans, hanging his head for a moment, hair like a wavy curtain around his face. “It took ages for me to realise that I didn’t know everything that was wrong with me. Instead I had to actually listen to someone else’s assessment of me and not interject my own thoughts every time. Do you know how frustrating that is for a know it all like me?!”</p>
<p>“I can only imagine,” I giggle. My thoughts immediately go to Penny and the first time she got drunk. My ears rang for hours from all her yelling about not <em> actually </em>being drunk. She and Baz might get along. (Maybe a little too well. God, could I deal with two of them together?) (Hopefully, because I want Baz to stick around for awhile.)</p>
<p>“I live in absolute agony.” He puts the back of his hand against his forehead like a dramatic Victorian maiden. I’m about to call him that when my stomach decides to rumble louder than a bloody earthquake. The corner of Baz’s mouth quirks up. “You hungry there, Snow? I can get us something.”</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah, I’m always hungry. But I can buy it, don’t worry.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense. I was the one who asked you out and picked the place, I’ll happily pay.”</p>
<p>“Out like a date?” The words spill out before I have a chance to stop them. </p>
<p>I’m pretty sure even the tips of my ears have turned bright pink at this point. Shit, why did I say that? Calm down, Simon. This is (technically) the first time we’ve seen each other in twelve years. No need to make this something it may not be. I expect Baz to be shocked, or confused, or annoyed at worst. But once again today, Baz surprises me. All he does is smile, looking at me with such kindness, far more open than I remember he was back at uni.</p>
<p>“Would you like this to be a date?” There's no pretense or implication in his words, he’s legitimately asking me. I don’t feel pressured, but luckily I already know.</p>
<p>“Yes, yeah, I-I would. I’d like that a lot.” I reach my hand forward across the table and just barely brush our fingers together. The tips of his are rough. Maybe he plays guitar or something, not piano. Doesn’t matter. I like the way he feels anyway.</p>
<p>Baz grins pointy ear to pointy ear. He flips his hand over, long callused fingers pressing into the much softer skin of my inner wrist. He can probably feel the way my pulse jumps. Luckily, I can feel the way his own is hammering. “Me too, Simon.”</p>
<p>We spend a bit too long just staring at each other before my stomach grumbles again. Baz chuckles and flags down the very nice waiter. I get another cherry scone and hot chocolate (yes I am 12 on the inside), and Baz gets something called a pumpkin mocha breve.</p>
<p>“What on Earth is that?” I ask when Baz gets his drink. It’s pale orange with a mountain of whipped cream on top.</p>
<p>“Try it.” He offers the cup to me and I take a sip. My tongue is immediately assaulted with more sugar that I’ve ever tasted at once. I blink rapidly from the shock.</p>
<p>“It tastes like a candy bar.”</p>
<p>“What can I say, I have a sweet tooth.” He licks the whipped cream off the top like a toddler with ice cream. A dollop gets on the tip of his nose.</p>
<p>“You’ve uh, got something right...” I flick the cream off with my thumb, “there.”</p>
<p>He laughs quietly. “Thank you. Allow me to return the favour.” Baz brushes some scone crumbs from my cheek. My skin feels like it’s on fire.</p>
<p>“T-Thanks.”</p>
<p>“You’re very welcome.”</p>
<p>We eat and drink and talk in between. Baz tells me about his work at the publishing house. It’s a small place that does mainly e-books and a few print ones, focusing on indie LGBT+ writers. He’s currently working on a book he describes as “gay polyamorous steampunk pirates,” which honestly gets me way too excited. I plan on pestering him for more details in the future. He looks animated the whole time, so passionate about what he’s doing. It makes him more beautiful.</p>
<p>He asks about my teaching. I tell him about my students, how incredible they are no matter how much they drive me crazy. I describe my lesson plans and all the new things I’m trying. Structured word inquiry, collaborative maths work, mixing subjects together to get kids engaged with stuff they don’t like. Luckily my principal is in favour of more out there ways of teaching too. Baz pays attention, asks questions and listens raptly. I can’t tell if he’s faking it. Most people do. I can’t blame them, it’s not very interesting. But as I go on and on, Baz never tries to change the subject or stares off into space. It’s not like he’s an angel for paying attention to me. It’s just nice that he’s making the effort. He’s really, really nice.</p>
<p>We eventually move off the topic of work. I tell him about my fencing class, something I haven’t done since I went to Watford. Baz calls me a bronze haired knight. I’m not too proud admit that made me blush. In turn, Baz tells me about getting back into playing the violin since he quit being a lawyer. (So that’s what the calluses are from).</p>
<p>“Cold I hear you play sometime?” I ask.</p>
<p>“My skills are still rusty,” he says over his near empty mug.</p>
<p>“Is that a no then?”</p>
<p>He sighs, but it’s with a small smile. “More like a ‘listen at your own risk.’”</p>
<p>“I can live with that.”</p>
<p>“Alright, another time then.”</p>
<p>I grin. Another time, I really like the sound of that.</p>
<p>Eventually, we somehow get onto the harder topics. I tell him about being in group homes, not having friends until Penny and Agatha, still feeling out of place and worthless sometimes. Baz talks about growing up without his mother, trying to live for her instead of himself until recently. Turns out we’ve both had a lot of hardship. We understand each other. We sort of match, I guess.</p>
<p>“I did like being with my younger siblings,” Baz sighs. “No matter how much I pretended I didn’t. Part of me felt like I was betraying my mother if I loved her husband’s children with another woman. But they were still my siblings and good kids, though I’m glad they’re all mostly tolerable ages now.”</p>
<p>I chuckle, leaning my cheek on my fist. “Mm, understandable. I always wanted siblings. Other kids to play with, y’know?”</p>
<p>“Group home kids didn’t play with you?”</p>
<p>“Nah, I was the weirdo who preferred punches over talking. No one liked being around me.”</p>
<p>Baz reaches out and brushes against my forearm. How can someone make me feel like I’m going to melt with just a touch? “If it’s any consolation, I certainly like being around you.”</p>
<p>I grin and touch his arm in turn. “I’ll certainly take that.”</p>
<p>We get away from all the dark shit, turning back to happier things. Baz describes the techniques and difficulties of the violin with dramatic gusto. I relay some of my worst customer service work experiences. I’ve never been good at talking, never liked it much. But I like it with Baz. He feels easy to talk to. I barely feel scared or awkward. We talk so much that we don’t even notice the sun setting on the horizon.</p>
<p>“Holy shit what time is it?” I say.</p>
<p>Baz looks down at his fancy leather watch. (A leftover from his prep days.) “Much later than I think either of us realised.”</p>
<p>I laugh and run a nervous hand through my hair. “Damn, sorry.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare apologize, Snow, unless you regret being here?”</p>
<p>“What?!” I gasp. “Of course not!”</p>
<p>He grins cheekily. I grumble and glare at him. Teasing bastard. Baz grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. Any bad will immediately vanishes. “You said you lived in Camden. How close are we?”</p>
<p>“Uh, not that far. I walked here.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful. How about I pay then walk you home like a gentleman?”</p>
<p>I hope my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. I squeeze his hand. “I’d like that a lot.”</p>
<p>He squeezes back. “Good.”</p>
<p>Baz does just as he says, and soon enough we’re strolling down the streets under the dimming London sky. We chat some more, but also occasionally just walk in comfortable silence. I don’t mind either, because Baz doesn’t let go of my hand the whole time. I’ve never felt so excited just from someone holding my hand. I don’t know why. I don’t care, really. I just want to bask in it forever.</p>
<p>Unfortunately though, we do reach my building. Never have I hated my own home more. I consider not telling Baz so we can keep walking, but then I remember all the homework I was supposed to grade yesterday while I was too excited about Baz to focus. I’ll need a good night’s sleep to survive. Life is too cruel sometimes.</p>
<p>“This is me,” I say.</p>
<p>“Nice place,” Baz replies.</p>
<p>“You don’t need to lie.”</p>
<p>“I’m not, I promise.” His head tilts to the side, a smirk on his lips. “Maybe I could see if your flat matches up sometime.”</p>
<p>I swear to god, my face is going to melt off from how much I’m blushing today. Baz laughs at my obviously flabbergasted expression. I playfully smack his shoulder. “Haha, very funny. Buy me dinner first, arsehole.”</p>
<p>He tugs me a bit closer by our joined hands. My nose is almost touching his. The smell of his post coffee peppermint gum hits me so hard I’m afraid I’ll stumble from the wonderful shock. “Are you free next Friday?”</p>
<p>I gulp, then nod slowly. I can’t look away from his mouth, fuck “Y-Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Good for you.” He takes a large step back, snapping me out of my daze. He’s got a cheeky little half smile on his lips. “I’m not, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy the free time.”</p>
<p>I gape at the absolute bastard. I shove his shoulder a bit harder this time. “Arsehole!”</p>
<p>Baz throws his head back laughing. It’s the most beautiful sound in the noisy London night. He takes my other hand and runs his thumb over the back of it. “Unfortunately, I am actually tied up for the next week, but I’m free the week after. Any ideas, Snow?”</p>
<p>I grin at him. “How about a scenic walk in Hyde Park?”</p>
<p>One of his eyebrows goes up in playful confusion. “Not dinner?”</p>
<p>“We’ll get to dinner eventually. I expect to be romanced a bit more first, Basilton.”</p>
<p>He smirks again and pulls me closer again “That doesn’t sound bad at all. Hyde Park will be lovely this time of year.”</p>
<p>“Agreed.”</p>
<p>Even though by all rational logic we should let go, our hands stay linked. Neither of us make a move to get away. I can smell the peppermint again, every time his hot breath brushes against my face. It’s somewhat shaky. But I imagine mine is about the same. I’m not sure. I’m too focused on his sharp cheekbones and blown pupils and pouty mouth. Mostly his mouth. Before I know it, we’re nose to nose. I’m getting whiffs of something other than his gum. Cedar, maybe, and bergamot. It’s perfect for Baz. He moves his face slightly, and our mouths <em> almost </em>touch. A spark still runs through my veins.</p>
<p>“Simon,” he sighs, and the sound of his voice hits me in so many places. Baz’s head moves again, brushing our noses together. I watch his eyes flutter like a pair of butterflies until they fully close. Mine follow suit. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of cedar and bergamot as I press my mouth to Baz’s.</p>
<p>He’s colder than I thought they would be, colder than anyone I’ve kissed before. Yet I like it so much more. Baz’s tepid mouth sends a calming wave through my constantly overheated body. He’s soft too, like how I imagine a cloud could feel if I was ever able to touch one. Our lips slot together so easily. His hands clutch mine tighter, nails even digging into my skin. Not good enough. Not close enough. I let go of Baz, but only so I can slide my arms up to hold his shoulders, pressing our bodies together. Baz immediately winds his arms around my waist, getting us even closer. He’s all lovely lean muscle pressed against me. And I fit into his arm so well. My lips fall open and Baz quickly follows. His tongue slowly over my back teeth, making stars explode behind my eyes and in my brain. I kiss him more fervently. Baz groans into my mouth. </p>
<p>Part of me can’t believe that we’re doing this. Two thirty three year old men, snogging like stupid teenagers on the steps of my apartment building. Sounds so embarrassing. The other part of me really doesn’t care. I’ve never felt like this just from a kiss. Like I’ve left my body and entered another dimension where all there is happiness and pleasure and <em> Baz. </em>Is this how all kisses are supposed to feel? Or is it because of Baz? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just weave my fingers through his silky smooth black hair and keep kissing this wonderful, wonderful man.</p>
<p>Baz pulls away, and I nearly whine. Luckily I still have a bit of dignity. (Just a bit.) He doesn’t let go of me, thank god. He keeps his lovely hands on my waist, eyes still half closed, bright red lips pulled into a grin.</p>
<p>“Do you always kiss on the first date, Snow?” he whispers playfully.</p>
<p>“No, you’re the first.” I twirl a bit of his wavy hair around my index finger. “Feel special?”</p>
<p>“Extremely.”</p>
<p>I lean forward and kiss him again for a moment. Just a quick, hard press against him. Baz leans forward slightly when I pull away. My heart flutters happily in my chest. “As much as I’d like to keep doing this, it’s late, and I’ve got grading to do.”</p>
<p>He makes an over dramatic groan, leaning against my hands. “How dare you be a responsible teacher who is truly committed to educating the next generation?”</p>
<p>God, he’s making me want to kiss him again. He does it so easily. “I know, terribly inconvenient. We’ll figure something out, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yes, give me a call. And don’t wait twelve years this time.”</p>
<p>I sigh while Baz smirks at me. I’m about to retort when he leans down and kisses me. My head is spinning like a tumble dryer. I don’t want this day to ever end. Unfortunately, reality is a thing that exists. And because of it, Baz has to pull back, leaving me wanting more.</p>
<p>“I’ll text you when I get home,” he says, “alright?”</p>
<p>“Alright. Have a good night, Baz.”</p>
<p>“You too, Simon.”</p>
<p>He pecks my forehead, and I nearly melt into the pavement. We then slowly disentangle ourselves. My fingers trail on Baz’s as he lets go. He waves one more time. I smile back. And I keep smiling as I watch him walk down my street, only going for my keys when I lose sight of him as he turns the corner. I literally skip up my steps to my door. I’m so dazed with happiness that I barely notice that I walk into Dr. Margaret’s office instead of my dingy lobby.</p>
<p>“Snogging in public?” she says. “How very adolescent.”</p>
<p>I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s what you say after abandoning me for a week?”</p>
<p>She snorts, leaning back in her chair. “Didn’t abandon you. Just let you figure things out on your own. Point of therapy, remember?”</p>
<p>“Well, yeah, I know that. A little heads up would be nice though.”</p>
<p>“Not my style.”</p>
<p>It’s my turn to snort. I plant myself on her couch. “I know, you’re more of the ‘toss in the deep end and yell swim’ kind of therapist.”</p>
<p>“Mhm. And look how it turned out. Found your Baz.”</p>
<p>My eyes narrow even more. “How do you know his name?” Dr. Margaret just keeps smiling at me like a cat who’s caught a canary. The realisation slaps me in the face. My jaw drops open. “You knew exactly who and where he was the entire time, didn’t you?” No change, still smiling. “How?!”</p>
<p>“Though about him. Saw his whole life in my mind’s eye.”</p>
<p>My jaw falls further. Holy shit, how powerful is she? “Really?!”</p>
<p>“No.” She pulls a plastic card out of her pocket, holding it between her index and middle finger like a throwing star or something. “Swiped his uni ID and Googled him here. Much faster than powers.”</p>
<p>I can’t help but burst out laughing. Godlike abilities have nothing on a good search engine, it seems. “Of course you did.”</p>
<p>She shakes her head sarcastically. “Can’t believe you. Send you back in time, and you wonder how I know about one bloke?”</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah. Knowing everything is a bit different from time travel.” I lean forward with elbows on my knees. “Why didn’t you tell me about him then? Why make me suffer for a week?”</p>
<p>“Suffering now?”</p>
<p>“Well, no, now that I’ve found him-”</p>
<p>“And what made you want to find him?”</p>
<p>I rub the back of my neck, trying to coax the words out from my brain. “Uh, I dunno. I know we met only once, but he just stuck in my head. He was interesting, smart, funny and nice in his own way. And I wanted to talk to him again, learn more about him. It was overwhelming, really. How much I wanted to be around Baz again. I-I’ve never felt something like that so strongly before.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.” Dr. Margaret picks up a pen just to point it at me. “Felt strongly for the first time ever. Made you determined even to find him when it was hard. And never felt this strongly because you always settled for okay. Felt okay with Agatha, with Todd, with everyone. Need better than okay. Need to want someone more so you can build more. Make a relationship that’ll actually go somewhere.”</p>
<p>My eyebrows furrow. “I thought I needed to focus on the present more.”</p>
<p>“You do. In the present, desire Baz right?”</p>
<p>I think about Baz’s pretty eyes and his pretty laugh and the way he made my head do somersaults when he kissed me. My flushed face splits into a grin. “Yeah, I really do.”</p>
<p>“Good.” She leans back again with her hands linked behind her head. “Build from there. Put the effort in like you did searching for him. Will want to put the effort in, because you actually want him, not just because he’s nice and you should like him.”</p>
<p>The puzzle pieces start to slide into place finally. It was all one big, weird life lesson, of course, like everything Dr. Margaret gets me to do. Looking back, I cared about Agatha, and I did love her as a friend. But I never desired her. I never desired Todd or any of my other exes either. They just seemed like the kind of people you should date. They weren’t even bad, they just weren’t for me, weren’t who I wanted.</p>
<p>But dear lord, do I want Baz.</p>
<p>“You couldn’t just tell me I was dating people I wasn’t actually attracted to?” I ask. “That I was actually supposed to feel more but I was settling for nice people I didn’t really like instead?”</p>
<p>Dr. Margaret shakes her head. “Not how therapy works. Supposed to guide you to find the answers, not tell you outright. Where’s the fun in that?”</p>
<p>I cross my arms and smirk at her. “Since when is therapy fun?”</p>
<p>She glares at me hard. “Brat. Lucky that I like you.”</p>
<p>“Aw. I’m touched.” My voice is sarcastic, but my bright smile is genuine. I’m glad she likes me. I’m glad she’s here to help me finally live my life. I hate to think where I’d be without her help. From her returning grin, I think she knows that.</p>
<p>“Go do your grading. Be a responsible teacher. See you next time.”</p>
<p>“See you later, Dr. Margaret.”</p>
<p>She waves her hand, gold rings flashing in the light, and the world spins like a cyclone. I yelp as I fall flat on my arse on my apartment floor. Well, at least she didn’t put me back in the lobby so I had to climb all those stairs. Small blessings, take 'em where I can get ‘em. And Dr. Margaret herself is already a huge one.</p>
<p>After getting out of my day clothes and into trackies, I set about to my teacher's work. It’s not the most fun part of the job but it’s certainly the most important. I’m lost in a haze of spelling tests and math activities when I feel my phone buzz. There’s one text on the screen, and it makes me smile instantly.</p>
<p><b>Baz</b> <b><br/>
</b><em>Hey, made it home safe. I had a lovely time today and can’t wait to see you again. Call me tomorrow at lunch?</em></p>
<p>Is it possible to die from such pure happiness and excitement? I hope not, because I’ve still got so much more of my life I want to live. And I want to see if Baz will be a big part of it.</p>
<p><b>Simon</b> <b><br/>
</b><em>me too. call you at noon &lt;3</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mushy ending, as usual for me haha. I really hope you all liked that! Even if you don't know the original show, I hope it was good. I really liked the idea of Simon in time travel therapy, it would be good for him. Tbh I thought about making Ebb his therapist because she was such a mentor for him, but I wanted to try out Margaret and she ended up being a lot of fun. I may write more in this universe. There are other Being Erica plotlines that could be fun. And exploring Baz and Simon's relationship in this AU further could be great. We'll see. I'm taking writing day by day due to my health. Anywho, thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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